We Say It The Same Way
by AnimeDutchess
Summary: USxUK, A collection of oneshots focusing on America and England. Chapter 7: Tea, lemonade, a heatwave, and memories. Just take it off already, England!
1. Bees In Your Kitchen

_**We Say It The Same Way**_

By AnimeDutchess

A/N: Dude. Hetalia rocks. It…it's just made of win. I'm working on a longer, more serious oneshot for it, but I really wanted something out there that was…shorter. It'll take me a bit to write that one, yah know.

Anyway, I hope you enjoy this. It's my first Hetalia fic, so…keep an open mind!

………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………….

Disclaimer: Nah, I don't own Hetalia. If I did, I would have abducted Alfred already! And no, not in the terrorist sense.

………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………….

It had happened in an instant. One moment, America was chatting with him, smiling, eager, and for once, they weren't at each other's throats. Then, suddenly, his bespectacled eyes had locked on something, and went dark. Every time England tried to start the conversation up again, America would grunt, as if he was listening, but his eyes would move, as if following something in the air.

If there was one thing England hated, it was blatancy.

"Bloody hell, America! If you aren't going to even pay attention, why are you pretending?"

"Hu-what?" Immediately, America snapped out of it, and brought his clear blue eyes to meet England's murky green ones. "Oh, I'm sorry, I…" Before he could explain himself, however, his face changed. It was like he suddenly realized something very important.

"Oh, shit…" His voice was weak. England raised a bushy eyebrow in confusion.

"What?"

"…I lost _track __**of IIIIT!!!!**_" As usual, America was loud and extravagant, and…a bit of a fraidy-cat. That sounds strange; the Great Hero America being afraid of things, but it was true. England knew from experience. _He's afraid of things he can't see, and that he can't explain, and…_

"THERE'S A BEE IN YOUR KITCHEN, ENGLAAAAND!!"

"Oh, good God…" England sighed as America scrambled out of his kitchen, letting the wooden chair he'd been sitting in fall to the floor with a clatter. "It's just a bee. It's not going to kill you."

"_YES IT WILLLLL!"_ America yelled from somewhere else in the house, probably hiding under a blanket and shaking. Letting out another sigh, England looked around for the bee.

"Come on, come on…" He muttered to himself, a little agitated. "I can't be looking around for a blasted insect all day…hn?"

There it was, a…rather large, fearsome-looking insect, resting on the window sill, looking at England, as if expecting him to open the window. He sighed, leaning over and doing so, watching the bug zip away.

"I didn't expect it to be that big…"

"That's what she said!"

"You can make ridiculous jokes, but you can't have the balls to stay in the room with a bee?"

"DIDN'T YOU SEE HOW FREAKIN' FREAKY IT WAS?!?"

Once again, a sigh emerged from England, and he walked out of the kitchen, not surprised to see America in his living room, completely wrapped in a blanket, on the couch, shuddering. He peeked out when he heard England's footsteps, and – _For the love of every Queen of England, could he not give me that 'wounded-dog' look?_ – his face was pale-ish.

"Oh, God, it was gonna eat us. Thank you, England…" America mumbled, clutching the blanket closer. England rolled his eyes.

"Now that it's gone, I'm sure it would be fine if you came out from under there."

"…" America pouted. "No."

_Oh, so we're playing that game, are we? Fine…_

England gave him a soft smile, and walked over to the couch, sitting next to the blanket-covered mound of American and petting his head.

"Come on, Bab; come out from under there…" He coaxed. America's expression soured.

"Don't use that stupid nickname on me! I'm not a little kid!"

"But Bab, you're acting like one…" England's smile turned into a smirk, and his eyes were almost sad. He hadn't used that name on America in a long time…but hey, anything to rile him up, right?

"I am not!" America squirmed under his touch. "And stop using your crazy British words on me! No one can understand them!" England's eyes narrowed. _Oh, it's on, you idiot._

"Well, maybe if your brain wasn't made of _hamburger meat_-"

"Don't you start with that! Why don't you pull that shilalie outta your ass-"

"That's _Irish_, you bloody plonker-"

"See? _See?_ More crazy British words!"

"I just want you to come out from under there!"

"Well, why didn't you just ask?!?"

"Because you were being difficult!"

"Then why are we yelling?!?"

"I don't KNOW!"

Then they stopped. All England could hear was their breathing, and all he could feel was the blood pumping so hard that even his ears felt it, and his fingers were still tangled in tawny locks, why hadn't he taken his hand back yet? And –

The blanket thrown around his shoulders caught him off-guard.

"…A-America?" He blinked, looking up, damning that inch of height-difference, because it made everything so difficult. The younger one just smiled at him, holding him tightly with one arm that had somehow snaked around England's middle when he wasn't looking.

He continued to stare at America, waiting for an explanation, but it never came, because eventually, he sighed one last time, and leaned on the younger one's chest, and fell asleep, because everyone needed an impromptu cuddle-session once in a while, right? And America had stared back, and after watching England sleep, he too drifted off to the land of dreams.

What did this mean for them? What did this make their relationship? To this day, neither of them knows. America considers it is own little triumph towards his ultimate goal of getting England to lighten up, while the older one treasures it as the only memory he has of America that doesn't make him want to get piss drunk in anger or sadness…

Because by God, did it make no sense, and for their own reasons, that moment puts a smile on their faces.

_**Fin**_

………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………….

A/N: XD It started out as funny crack, and ended as philosophical fluff. Go figure.

I wrote it because I saw a big, freaky looking wasp…thing…try to crawl into my air conditioner, and since I'm at my desk, right under it, and have a terrible fear of buzzing insects, you could imagine a pale-faced brunette girl, awaiting her imminent doom…thank goodness it didn't get in.

America's afraid of ghosts and scary movies and such, but I thought him not liking bugs either would be kinda cute.

'That's what she said' is probably the biggest joke among me and my friends. I would think that lots of Americans our age use the joke, and just imagining Alfred saying it makes me want to laugh…

'Bab' is short for 'babby', a word used in the Midlands of England. 'Babby' means baby, and 'Bab' is a term of endearment, shortened from 'babby'. I figured England would say things like that when America was young, and he'd know lots of different English terms…

A shilalie is an Irish walking stick type-thing. America's a bit…eh…well, he'd probably not consider the difference since Ireland and England are in the same area. I mean, he doesn't even know where Japan is.

'Plonker' means idiot. No explanation needed.

Anyway, I hope you enjoyed this! I think I'll make this into a series of USxUK drabbles… what do you think? Please review me! - AnimeDutchess


	2. England VS Sparkly Vampires

_**We Say It The Same Way**_

By AnimeDutchess

A/N: This has been brewing in my head in several forms, but either way, I felt that I should write something funny about literature, since I, you know, really do want to eventually write a book…

So, enjoy it, please!

………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………….

Disclaimer: In America, neither of us owns Hetalia. In Soviet Russia, Hetalia DOESN'T own YOU!

…Wait, that came out wrong…

………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………….

As far as America was concerned, this whole thing started when England left that strange message on his voice mail.

"_Goddamn…bloody…Alfred, get yourself across the pond IMMEDIATELY. I want to have a…TALK…with you…"_

From his tone alone, even a blockhead like America could tell that England was _infuriated_. As if the use of his human name wasn't enough…

So, of course, since he didn't want to inflict anyone else with the wrath of an _infuriated_ England, America went to the older country's house. Hey, a true hero would take the brunt of whatever anger someone was feeling, in order to protect the others from it, right? Yes, this made him truly heroic.

So, as he stood in front of England's door, not sure what to expect, he knocked, a grin on his face and all fear absent. After all, he could handle _any_thing! He was a hero!

Then the door slowly creaked open, revealing the dark interior of England's home. It seemed that no one had come to open the door.

Now, a rational human being might panic at first, but then realize that, maybe, the door had been left open, or someone had broken in and carelessly forgot to cover their tracks, and either way, the knock on the door made it open. But America was not rational, nor a human, so his brain came to one logical conclusion:

The door had been opened by a ghost.

"HUWAAAAGH! ENGLAAAAAND!!!" So much for the 'hero' appearance; America was huddling in England's very green, very tidy front bushes. "A GHOST OPENED YOUR DOOOOOOR!"

For a few minutes, he got no response. Then, he heard the creak of something else opening, and, not realizing that that something was right above him, was promptly doused with cold water.

"GAH!"

"That's what you get for mussing up my bushes and _screaming_ at my front door!" Blinking through the water, America looked up; England was hovering above him, half his body leaning out a windowsill, a bucket in his hands. He was very close (the window was on the first floor, after all), and America could see the redness in the older man's eyes. _Oh, geez, don't tell me he's been drinking again…_

"Well, I'm sorry I got _scared,_ I mean, I can't _help_ it…" He tried to put as much sarcasm in his voice as he could. England just glared at him.

"Oh, shove it," He growled, placing down the bucket with a _clunk_ and tossing something out the window. Squeaking, America dodged it, only to realize what it was when it hit the bush; a fluffy, white towel. As America popped out of the bush, he took the towel in his hands and examined it. It was embroidered in gold thread around the edges, and, in very fancy lettering, the letters 'A.R.K.' were swirled together. America chuckled, using the cloth to wipe off the water dripping from his hair and nose.

"You're the only straight man I know," America said through the window, looking at England's turned back, "Who _embroiders_ his own towels." As he chuckled some more, England turned around and shot him a dirty look.

"Embroidery is _relaxing_," He said through clenched teeth, "And I never said I was straight."

America shrugged. "You're the straightest guy I know. Straighter 'n France."

"Hm, point taken…" For a moment, England's face softened, but it immediately hardened again, now flushed. "N-Now wait a second! I'm angry at you! I'm not supposed to agree with you!"

"But England, why would you be angry at _me?_ I'm awesome!"

"…Just get in here. I'll explain it then."

"Alright." And with that, America grabbed the windowsill and swung himself over the edge, landing on both feet with a sturdy _thump_. England looked positively _livid_.

"_Why the __**bloody hell**__ would you leap through my __**window**__ when the __**door**__ is __**OPEN?!?**__"_

America pouted. "Well, a ghost opened it."

"_I sent __**Jubilee**__ to open the __**door**__ for you!"_

"England, just because you think you see little magical creatures doesn't mean they can do things for you." As you can see, he was just making things worse for himself. Oh, America, if only you could read the atmosphere…

After clenching and unclenching his fists a few times, and counting to ten in his head, England took a deep, deep breath. "No. You know what? I'm dropping it. I don't care."

"So I can come through your window every time I visit you?!?"

"_**NO!!!!!!!"**_

………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………….

After that little…episode…America found himself sitting in England's stuffy parlor, in a stiff chair (How could it be so _stiff_? It had _cushions!!_), hands in his lap and eyes curious. England sat on the other side of the room, on the equally stiff couch, a table between them, sipping a cup of tea, his legs crossed, wearing that sweater vest…_God, is he tiny…and so damn _feminine_…and-_

"America."

_He's got that kind of aura that makes you want to listen to him when he's mad._

England's eyes were like two dark orbs of jade, cold and hard, as he glared at America, the bespectacled man sinking in his chair from the gaze. With a few soft clinks, he set down his teacup and steepled his fingers.

"Honestly, I thought you couldn't sink any farther." His words were curt, sharp, as if he'd taken them to one of those old, stone wheels, and grinded the edges until they were sharp enough to split hair. "After all these years, I thought the worst thing your country could cook up was that load of bollocks that Dan Brown spewed forth." At this, America gave him a confused look. "The research was flawed, my countrymen were vilified, and France was made to look like God's Chosen Country! But still, it was well-written, and I pardoned it for that." The look on America's face spiraled further into confusion. "And yet…" At this point, England started to shake. "To think…the worst was yet to come…"

"…Wait, wait, hold up..." America held up a hand to try and get England to calm down. "You asked me to come over here, scared me with your little magical creatures, poured water on me, and berated me for coming in through your window…just so you could talk to me about-"

_"The sanctity of LIT'TRATURE!"_ England's fist pounded the little table between them, the teacup almost toppling. "Your people have _defecated_ on the art of the _written word!!!_" He was panting, face stained an angry red, and his large eyebrows were knitted together.

The whole combination just sent America into a laughing fit.

_"STOP LAUGHING! I'M SERIOUS!!"_

"But, but…" Mirthful tears leaked from America's eyes, and he reached up to wipe them away. "Y-You said 'lit-trah-chure'. It's 'li-tur-ah-chure!"

"You, of all people, shouldn't harass my pronunciation!" He pointed an accusing figure at America, who was caught in a giggle-fit. "And how would you even _begin_ to understand lit'trature if _this_," And he pulled out a thick volume from somewhere, slamming it onto the table and actually toppling the teacup this time, not caring that tea was staining his rug, "Is what your people think is a _good read_!"

America was still suffering from the giggles.

"I'll wait."

And he did. He waited a whole three minutes, for that was how long it took for America to calm himself, look at England, snort, and start back up again before the laughter finally died down with a big sigh, America's cheeks ruddy and his mouth muscles hurting.

"Ah, hah…okay…so, what's got your knickers in a twist this time?" He asked casually, leaning forward to examine the book. Before England could make a retort about the knickers comment, America's blue eyes widened considerably at the cover. "Oh! This is that Twilight book, right? The one with the movie with the sparkly people?"

"…" England gave him a blank stare. "You mean, you've never read it?"

"Nope! It's easier to see the movie!"

"…I know I'm going to regret asking, but…how _was_ the movie?"

"Eh, 's okay." America shrugged. "The special effects were cool. The sparkly people were _AWESOME_. The romance was kinda 'meh'. You know?" At that, England couldn't help but sigh.

"Leave it to an idiot to stare at anything for an extended period of time if it _sparkles_."

"Huh, what was that? I didn't hear you." America had been too busy staring at England's sparkly teacups in his china cabinet.

"…"

"What?"

"…_Any_way…" England slammed his hand on the book, as if he could push it through the table, into the ground, and never see it again. "This….this _book_, if you can even call it that…"

"Hey, England!"

"…_What?_"

"Since you read the book, I was wondering something. Are you on Team Edward, or Team Jacob?"

Oh, geez. He really was asking for it, wasn't he? He was begging for it on his hands and knees, and while, in a different context, England would have loved that. But this time…

You could've said that he'd finally cracked under the pressure. He gave America a crooked smile, and, in what his opinion was a truly cruel move, he picked up the book with as much gentleness as he could, leaned over, and set it in America's lap.

"Why don't you read it," He said, in a calm voice that hid a deadly edge, "And you tell _me_ what you think of it."

"Oh, no, I don't need to. A lot of people have told me how awesome it is."

"Why don't you read it…and experience the…_**awesome**_…for yourself?"

"Hm…that's a good idea. Why didn't I think of that?"

And so, England sat, and crossed his legs again, and watched as America opened the book to the first page, and started to read. The younger one's expression started off as excited, then, as he got further down the page, his face twisted, and he was obviously somewhat stumped, then confused, then just…blank. And he hadn't even turned the page yet.

It was a solid five minutes before America moved at all. His head shakily came up from the book, his eyes meeting England's.

"Hey, England."

"Yes?"

"…" He looked down at the book, then back at England. "I…I think I died a little inside." England let out a frustrated sigh at this.

"Finally, some sense comes out of your mouth…" He crossed his arms in front of his chest and leaned forward slightly. "See, this is what I've been trying to tell you! That…that _thing_, that wildly popular _thing_, is nothing more than a shoddy romance novel for disillusioned preteen girls! And it's not even well-written!" He jabbed a finger at the text. "There's purple prose _everywhere_, and I'm certain that some of the Eastern European countries aren't too thrilled with how their supernatural creatures are being portrayed, fighting over a self-centered girl and being mind-numbingly 'perfect'!" Through this whole tirade, America's eyes were locked with England's, and his lip trembled.

"But…but it's _American_…" He said, his voice sounding like something between a whine and a sob. "It _has_ to be awesome…"

"Well, _unfortunately_, it's not!" England stood up, in the heat of the moment. "And I can't believe you would send me such an _atrocious_ thing to read! I thought you at least _skimmed_ the books you send me!"

"…England…"

"What?"

"…I didn't send you this."

"…What?"

"You can't just assume that because it's American that I sent it to you." He had a hurt look on his face. "And I _do_ read things before I send them to you – Gatsby, Streetcar, In Cold Blood…I read them, and made sure they were the best, before I sent them to you." His gaze faltered. "Honest, I wouldn't have sent you…this…if I had ever read it!"

"…Oh…" It was like someone had shot England with a tranquilizer; all the anger in his body just dissipated into nothingness, only to be replaced by a funny mixture of confusion and guilt. "I'm…I'm sorry…"

"You can't just go accusing people, England!" America wailed dramatically, and even if his reaction was a bit over-the-top, it was honest.

"I said I was sorry! God, really…I don't want to get into another shouting match…" He gave America a wary look. "You're not…crying, are you?"

"NUH-UH!!" Even though there were little droplets forming at the corners of America's eyes, there was no way he'd acknowledge them. England, feeling so drained from all of this, just sighed, and walked over to America, standing behind his chair and hugging him from behind. He kept telling himself it was only to get the younger nation to stop crying. That's all it was. He didn't feel horrible about it, not one bit. Guilty, yes, but not horrible. Oh, no.

"I-I'm sorry, I…" His voice was soft. "The book just...I read the whole thing, and it made me so mad that I went 'n got piss drunk last night…and as I did, I ranted about it at the bar, and someone mentioned that it was written in America, and I just…"

He didn't continue. America kind of just sat there, a little fazed by the hug and sudden sweetness. He mumbled England's name, sniffling and feeling some heat in his cheeks.

"Anyway…" And England let go, giving America a soft pat on the shoulder before completely disconnecting. He reached down and took the book in his hands, looking at it with disgust. "It really makes me wonder just _who_ sent it to me…there was no return address." America sniffled again, and shrugged.

"Well, I sure don't know." England looked back at him.

"Do you suppose it could've been…oh, what's his name…Canada?"

"Matthew? No, I don't think he likes the book."

"…Sealand?"

"I don't think he likes to _read_."

"Then who in blue blazes-"

He was interrupted by the sound of airy, pompous laughter. Both men turned to the source, the still-open window, to find a certain sneaky Frenchman peeking in and laughing, _laughing_ at their misfortune, and a tape recorder in hand.

"Ooh, _je suis desolé!_" He exclaimed, not sounding the least bit sorry. "I know it's in bad taste, but I couldn't resist! You two are _trés mignon!_"

A split second later, France was running for his life, laughing all the way, as England and America tore after him down the London streets, England clutching the accursed tome in his hands, because no one would stop him from completely obliterating France's vital regions with it.

_**Fin**_

………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………….

**OMAKE**

"Hey, England, I was wondering…"

"Hm?"

"What does the 'R' on your towel stand for?"

"…Oh. It's my middle initial. Arthur R. Kirkland."

"…Okay, what's it stand for?"

"W-Why do you want to know??"

"Because I never knew you had a middle name!"

"…Well, what does the 'F' stand for in your name?"

"Oh. Alfred…_Fred_ Jones."

"…_Fred_?"

"Hey, it sounds cool."

"…No, it doesn't…"

"Ah, who cares? Now, tell me what the 'R' stands for!"

"…Arthur…rmgghhbf…Kirkland."

"Huh? I couldn't hear you."

"Arthur _Reginald_ Kirkland."

"…Pffft-"

"DON'T YOU START LAUGHING!!!"

………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………….

A/N: XD; I really wanted to add that little bit at the end, just to tie things up. Those aren't their real middle names, as far as I know, but I found it funny, and I hoped you would, too. Now, for the notes!

England is referring to The Da Vinci Code. Hey, I liked it, but I would imagine that he would have a few bones to pick with it.

From this area, we say literature as America pronounces it. I don't know how the British pronounce it, but, lit'trature sounded right to me.

No. I haven't seen the movie, or read the book, and I still don't like it, and I don't wanna be subjected to either. I've heard enough about it. However, I do not posses rabid hatred like England. I would think that, since he's got Shakespeare and Mary Shelly and Charles Dickens (etc.), great literary classics, he would be very picky with what he reads.

Gatsby, Streetcar, and In Cold Blood – The Great Gatsby, A Streetcar Named Desire, and In Cold Blood. Some truly awesome American works, if I do say so myself.

_Je suis desolé_ – I am sorry; _trés mignon_ – very cute. A little French class in junior high/high school goes a long way.

Anyway, I really do hope you enjoyed this! Thank you for reading this far, and please review! Ja Ne! - AnimeDutchess


	3. Anything For Me Mum

_**We Say It The Same Way**_

By AnimeDutchess

A/N: I have other ideas for this thing, but since it's Mother's Day, I wanted to do something special and cute.

…………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………..

Disclaimer: Don't own anything. Too tired to make this funny.

…………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………..

England wasn't his mother. Or his father. Heck, Canada was more like family than England, which made sense, because technically, they were brothers. And yet, lately, he'd been feeling sentimental towards the older nation just an ocean away. He always felt this way in May.

America blamed the pollen.

He blamed it partially on the pollen.

He blamed the pollen for him waking up so very early on this day. He blamed it for him rushing to get ready and borrowing his boss's helicopter (Thank goodness he was fine with it), and for him landing the copter a little ways outside London, where for once, it was sunny and somewhat warm. But after blaming the pollen for all that, he'd feel sorry for it, and take the blame for everything else, because heroes should take some blame, right?

So he blamed himself when, after taking ten minutes at the counter to find some Euros, he would take his time and pick out carnations for a little bouquet. He would at first want to get just one color, but then he'd remember taking so much time the day before to learn about what the colors of different carnations meant, he'd end up with something crazy and multi-colored; every year, the combination was different, and this year, with the mauve and the white and the one red carnation, he figured that he did a good job picking. He blamed himself for stopping by some random little bakery and picking up a box of simple, plain-looking cookies (biscuits his ass; it LOOKED like a cookie). He then blamed himself the most for getting a piece of thick, cream-colored paper, and using what little calligraphy he remembered to write 'Happy Mother's Day' on it.

And you know, he wouldn't blame himself if he could just give these gifts to England in person. But he could never bring himself to. He would leave them on the doorstep and ring the bell, or sometimes he would knock. One time he threw a stone at England's window and broke it. He felt rather guilty for that one. So this year, he wills his knees to stop shaking, and keeps one of those trademark 'Hero Grins' on his face, even when he hears footsteps coming close, closer to the door…

England's face is priceless, his eyes swirling with surprise and shock and something that looks like 'Aha, I thought so' as America shoves the cookies and flowers and card into England's arms and manages a rushed, "Happy Mother's Day, England," looking down at his feet with a bashful expression and that grin still on his face, because he's happy, he really is, but this is embarrassing, he's supposed to be independent, and there was that little 'I-kinda-sorta-wanna-make-out-with-him' feeling that would pop up from time to time, and _why wouldn't England say something already?!?_

There is silence between the two men, draped over them like a thick blanket, before England starts to chuckle.

"I wondered when you'd actually give me these in person."

"Y-You knew?!?"

"Well, Canada sends me maple leaf cookies and a nice letter, and he at least sends it to me on the right day."

"…What do you mean?"

"My version of Mother's Day is during _Lent_, you moron." More laughter.

"S-So?!? And stop laughing!"

But he's still glad he got the guts to do this in person, because England just looks so darn _happy_, and he's the one who did that, _he_ made England happy, and that felt nice.

"Come on, I should thank you properly." England steps to the side, inviting him in. "I can make coffee, and we can share these." And America shrugs.

"Nah, I'll have tea with you."

"But you hate tea…why? Feeling generous?"

America replies in one of the worst Cockney accents England's ever heard. "Well, if it's for me mum, anything!"

And England swats his head and brings him inside, figuring that he'll let that slide, because he knows America is trying his best to be nice, and for the record, he's doing a good job.

_**Fin**_

…………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………..

- Carnations are the flowers that are traditionally associated with Mother's Day; mauve 'reveals dreams of fantasy', white is 'innocence and pure love', and red is 'I admire you' and invoke love, passion, and respect…among other things.

- While Mother's Day is celebrated on the second Sunday in May for most of North and South America, England has a totally different system. Their Mother's Day, Mothering Sunday, falls on the fourth Sunday of Lent, three weeks before Easter.

- Apparently, the only British accent Hollywood actors are good at (or speak in) is Cockney. I'm just assuming this from something I read, so I don't know if it's true, but I think that America would think imitating their accent would flatter England. It doesn't, of course.

A/N: …Aaaand that's how it goes! I really like the image of Canada baking maple cookies shaped like maple leaves for England…and France, too, because Canada has TWO mommies…er, daddies. Can someone draw Canada baking, please? You don't have to, but…COME ON! It's such a cute image!

Anyway, yeah. America gets all bashful when he wants to be nice to England, who understands. It's cute. So cute. So review me. Ja Ne! - AnimeDutchess


	4. It's A Love Hate Thing

_**We Say It The Same Way**_

By AnimeDutchess

A/N: So, it's officially Saturday. But I'm writing this in honor of Friday, because that was my last day of my Freshman year of college. That, and I just wanted to gush about America. XD; Oh God, I've got it BAAAAAAD…

…………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………..

Disclaimer: I'm a poor college student, just like everyone else! So obviously, I don't own Hetalia, or I would've made a little money…

…………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………..

He loved America's eyes. Bright blue, sky blue, sea blue, whatever description you chose, it would not be able to adequately describe those eyes, so young, so hopeful, so god-damn _chipper_. When America was just an itsy colony across the pond, he'd thought of them as little mirrors reflecting the ocean, the vast expanse that he'd loved so dearly, and maybe what made America grow on him so quickly were the eyes that reminded him of past conquests, new discoveries. When he broke away, the ungrateful little twat, those eyes had changed. They were no longer the swirling, tempest waters, but the raging, almighty sky, able to cloud over or become clear and shine with such freedom and passion and unbridled possibility; the sky had been reserved for the birds alone, and eventually, America made it his own like he, England, had taken the sea.

He loved how America could just go up to any person, any one at all, and start a conversation, not afraid that the person might find him completely insufferable (which, to England's surprise, not all of them did) or that he was being rude. It might be ignorance, or naiveté, or some other thing, but it was like he was a man possessed when he spotted a person who looked bored, or upset, or just going about their normal day. He seemed to be drawn to disillusioned college students the most.

He hated it whenever America was taking some sort of medication. Aterol, he'd called it, with a blank face and the glare from his glasses hiding his eyes. He would sit, and not fidget, and pay attention, and listen to everyone's opinions with a sickening kind of _respect_, and it hadn't been long into that particular World Summit Meeting before Italy had flipped shit and got on his hands and knees and _cried_ and wailed and asked where everyone's America went, and England had been _relieved_, because it had been starting to get to the point that if no one said anything, _he'd_ have been the one begging. Thank goodness he never picked the pills up again after that little incident.

He loved it when America spoke a foreign language. Despite being so ignorant and moronic, it hadn't surprised England in the least when he heard the bespectacled one rattle off in simple Spanish while they were close to the Texas-Mexico border, once. It would make sense, for a country made up of immigrants to know a little bit about the diverse cultures of his people, even if his knowledge wasn't perfect. His Spanish wasn't bad, but his Chinese was absolutely terrible, and for some reason, his Italian and Yiddish improved whenever he was in his beloved New York City.

He loved seeing America react to anything small and fuzzy, particularly dogs. He remembered being dragged around to various shelters to play with dogs one time, how America would kiss and hug and pet every dog they had, and whisper to them as if they could understand human speech. He remembered the long trip back to America's house when, in the car, the pooped blond ranted about how he hoped that every single one of those animals got homes, and how sweet they were, and how he hoped that one mellow mutt got checked out by a doctor, because she really should be bouncing around like her brothers and sisters.

He hated seeing America sad. He would never try to hide how he felt; it was no use, he'd say, because he just couldn't stop feeling things like the rest of you stuffy Europeans and frigid Asians, and then he'd get kicked in the pants by somebody (they always chose who by drawing straws), reminded that he really shouldn't say things like that, but it was too late, because his somber mood had infected everyone, even if they never usually paid him much attention.

He hated it when America bitched about his weight. It was his own fault for eating all that food! Especially those fucking _hamburgers!_ And it's not like his pants size had changed in the last hundred or so years! Not that England would know, of course; he didn't peek in the boy's closet to check the sizes (Just in case!), so he'd know what to get him for Christmas…no, of course he didn't! Either way, if he just watched what he ate, he could rid himself of a lot of worry, and maybe no one would suspect that he had bulimia the next time he got food poisoning at a party.

He hated worrying about America. He hated having to work on things with America. He hated being around America at all during the month of July.

And God damn, but did he hate that he loved America.

…………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………..

- I have friends and family who have ADD/ADHD. Sometimes, they do need the medication they receive, or else they're just not functional. Most of the time, they don't need it, don't take it, and…you know, seeing a friend doped up on half of one pill just freaked me out. America, never take meds. PLEASE.

- You would think that America knew some Spanish, what with so many Spanish speaking people coming into the country. Chinese is a damn hard language for me to make sense of. There is a large Italian and Jewish immigrant population in NYC (or, at least, there was…I think?), so you'd think that in the place where the culture gathers is where the skills become better, ne?

- I love my dog. That's my only excuse. America wants to save all the doggies because he's a HERO!

- Sadness is Depression or Recession, and how it hits everyone.

- Yeah. Americans. Overweight. Eating Disorders, and all that crap. But America himself looks fine…

A/N: …God, I'm tired. Review meh plx? Ja. - AnimeDutchess


	5. Smash The Scales

_**We Say It The Same Way**_

By AnimeDutchess

A/N: This is in response to episode 17…because the image of this in my head just fits.

…………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………..

Disclaimer: If I owned Hetalia, there'd be official state-tans, with their own spin-off comic, and every once in a while, other countries would pop in, especially America. You know, that would be cool, even if it was a fanfic…

…………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………..

It was one of those days where England felt that he needed a change of scenery, that he needed to get out of his house – out of his country - and just relax a bit. On these days, he'd find himself in the strangest places; the Tower of Pisa, the Great Wall, the Pyramids, Mt. Fuji…it was odd, how he would just hop on a plane and strolled down streets that weren't his to call home. Maybe it was one of those habits left over from his pirating days, where he'd just get on a boat and _sail_ in whatever direction he wished…

Oh, those had been the days.

But he wasn't a conqueror anymore. He wasn't shoving his ideals onto other nations, wasn't going around proclaiming that if one's lands didn't have a flag, then they were ripe for the picking. He was just a visitor, now.

Sometimes, he'd bump into the others like himself, other 'nations', and they would talk, and reminisce, and despite what was going on with the international affairs, they would get along relatively well. Because, really, outside of war and treaties, they were all just one big group of friends…or some huge, dysfunctional family with more grudges and sexual tension that you could shake a stick at.

So, today was one of those days where he felt the need to throw down what he was doing and catch the nearest plane to who knows where, and before he could realize that he'd left in the middle of his breakfast, and hadn't bothered to clean up the table, and that his half-drunk tea was surely ice cold by now, he was in a plane, half across the Atlantic Ocean, bound for Washington, D.C.

Why did he decide to go to the States? Well, it was the flight that was leaving the soonest, and he wanted out as soon as possible, even if he went to a place he didn't particularly wish to go to. He'd been to the capital enough times to be sick of it, and America was sure to be staying in the city at this time of year. America, who seemed to have these amazing England-finding senses; it was rather annoying after the first hundred years. So basically, if England even so dared as to put a toe onto American soil, that insufferable blond would pop out of a nearby trashcan or something, and annoy him to no end.

But luckily, this time, as he shouldered his carry-on and wove through the crowds at the airport, he didn't catch so much as a glimpse of a bomber jacket. Relieved, he'd found himself a taxi and took it to the outskirts of the nation's capital, and paid the driver, and got out, and walked. He always loved to walk, even on a gray and dreary day like this.

And so he walked. He walked, and saw sights both familiar and new. He walked down streets he thought he owned, once upon a time. He passed monuments that had once been flaunted in his face. And even as his legs started to get tired, he kept going, kept turning corners and crossing streets and counting his blessings that no one had mugged him yet, and found himself…

…In front of America's house. Of course.

Well, it wouldn't be so bad. He _was_ rather tired. Surely, America wouldn't mind if he came in to rest for a while, before heading out again. As England walked up to the front door, letting out a little sigh, he heard a strange sound.

A strange, loud, crashing sound.

Followed by shouting. And crashing. And more shouting.

"MOTHER…FRIGGEN…LYING MAC HINE!!!"

Sounded like America.

"PIECE A…SHIT…CRAP…CRAAAAAP!!"

Oh, yes, that was definitely America. What could be wrong this time?

So, against his better judgment, which told him to just turn around and leave, England followed the sound of the crashing and shouting. It was coming from behind the house, so he walked around to the side of the house, where a gate and fence blocked anyone from just waltzing into the backyard. England knew for a fact that America never locked his back gate, no matter how high the crime rates were, or how close the terror alert came to red. He just wasn't the type to bar his people out. When England reached the gate, instead of just opening it up, he leaned over the edge and looked into the yard, green eyes widening at the sight.

The usually green and pristine grass was littered with metal and springs, and America stood in the center of it, his back to England and a wooden bat in his hands. When the bat came up, England to see that is was on the brink of breaking, and sure enough, as it came down on whatever object had deserved this destruction, it splintered. He heard America swear a blue streak that would make a sailor blush (Oh, God, had America learned all those swears from _him_? Heavens, he hoped not!), and saw him sink to his knees, panting and swearing and panting and shaking and panting and…

This whole thing was just so frighteningly _odd_.

"…A-America?" He saw the other man freeze, and turn his head towards England, those eyes so nervous-looking, even from far away. A light, jittery laugh escaped the younger one's lips.

"Oh…England! Er…" He turned himself around, discarding the broken bat, letting it lay in the grass with the rest of the mess. "Wha…what're you doing here? You don't usually, ah…" He licked his lips. "Come to visit without reminding me you're coming, like, five times."

While that should've pissed him off to some degree, England let it slide.

"Well, I was just in the neighborhood…" He opened the gate, the hinges squeaking in protest. "Thought it would be alright if I popped in for a bit…W-What _are_ you doing, anyway?"

Hey, there was no use skirting around the question, was there?

America let out another laugh. "Oh, ah…this?" He gestured around him, finally having the sense to get up. Maybe he didn't like the idea of kneeling in front of England. "I was just, uh…you know…doin' stuff…"

As England came closer, he got a better look at the litter on the ground. There were wood splinters, yes, but there were lots of little pieces of metal…a long pole, which was bent up and dented…a large circular piece, with numbers and smashed glass and a bent, red arrow…

…Ooooh, so that's what it was.

"You…" He hated having to look _up_ at America when he felt that the boy really needed someone to look _down_ at him. "You didn't happen to…gain a lot of weight all of the sudden, did you?"

"…What? Uh, w-what?" America was giving him that look again, that 'What-of-course-not' look, which always told him that the boy was lying through his teeth. "No! No, no, no, I'm _fine_…it's just, you know, it's a damn old scale, and, ah…see…I figured that throwing it out wouldn't be any fun, so-"

"-So you beat it to hell with a bloody baseball bat?"

"Yeah, exactly!"

"…" A sigh. "You…you _scare_ me sometimes, you know?" He wanted oh so very much to wag his finger at America, but he didn't, not this time. He just placed his hands on his hips instead. "You can't blame the scale for telling you that you messed up."

"I did NOT mess up! I-It's a freakin' lying piece of shit!"

"I know, America, I know, and so do your neighbors."

"…I wasn't that loud, was I?"

"I believe people in your beloved California could hear you."

America seemed to deflate at that, and his expression changed from fake reassurance to a kind of depressed pout that shouldn't have looked so damn _cute_ on him.

"…And if I _did_ gain a little…?"

England rolled his eyes.

"Well, it's not the end of the bloody world, and you shouldn't act like it is. Honestly…" He bent down and picked up a piece of metal from the ground, not even sure what part of the scale it had been a part of. "You didn't have to go this far. I mean, you look perfectly fine." He looked back at America, making sure to keep eye contact. "Just keep better track of what you eat, alright? And lay off the McDonald's!" At that, the cute look on America's face changed to one of skepticism.

"Hey, wait! Why're _you_ giving me advice about food? You can't cook for crap!"

And that was the last time England ever tried to be nice to America about his weight.

_**Fin**_

…………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………..

- Eddie Izzard reference; in his joke, he says that the British Empire went around putting flags in other lands, claiming them for the empire. In the joke, when India protested, England just looked at them funny and said, "Do you have a flag? No? Then you're not a country according to the rules that…I've just made up!" Eddie Izzard's jokes are even more awesome when you think of everything he says in the context of Hetalia.

- I LOVE HIGURASHI. What can I say? Beating things with bats makes a statement.

- I would think that other people who're dieting will agree with me when I say that the scale is the bane of mankind's existence. Although, I wouldn't go as far as beating every single one with a bat.

A/N: …I wanted this to be funny, but it ended up kind of scary and strange. Either way, I couldn't let another day pass without getting down the image of America beating his scale up in frustration. Review, plx? Ja Ne! - AnimeDutchess


	6. Interlude: Top Ten

_**We Say It The Same Way**_

By AnimeDutchess

A/N: Just a little something to tide you guys over while I work on the next official chapter. To be honest, I've kinda been floating around on the Hetalia Kink Meme…so much fun! I've posted a couple requests/fills already! I feel like a fanfic vigilante…

…………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………..

Disclaimer: Ownership is not mine! I definitely can't draw things _that_ cute…

…………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………..

**Top Ten People America Looks Up To (You could say they're his 'Heroes'):**

10. The Great Kamina of Team Dai Gurren (Who the hell do you think he is?!?)

9. Any comic book hero ever (It's too hard for him to pick just one.)

8. Dane Cook (He's hilarious!)

7. Stephen Colbert (He's the best source for accurate news America's ever found!)

6. Jesus (Even though America's technically not supposed to play favorites…freedom of religion and all that…)

5. Prussia (Because he's fucking awesome.)

4. Barack Obama (YEAH CHANGE!)

3. Abraham Lincoln (The guy who believed in him when his psyche was literally cracking in half.)

2. George Washington (The only guy America truly felt was completely right for the job.)

1. England (He…always tries to avoid explaining this one, but if you pester him enough, he'll start mumbling about inner strength and perseverance and a stubborn streak that would make a mule give in.)

**Top Ten Foods England Really Likes:**

10. McDonald's Hamburgers (Yes, he likes them, but he'd be damned if he put them any higher on this list!)

9. That 'Kraft Dinner' stuff Canada makes (Especially with hot dog chunks.)

8. Croissants (…Okay, this was the only French food England would _ever_ admit to liking.)

7. Premium Rum (Actually, any rum in general, but if he can afford it, he likes it high-quality.)

6. Mince Pies (According to everyone else, they're the only thing he can cook without having it taste too awful.)

5. Curry with Rice (He's always had a certain fondness for India's cooking…)

4. Fish and Chips (Okay, so technically, it's kinda bad for him, but…it's such a tasty dish!)

3. Scones (His own recipe, of course! And they're _supposed_ to be that hard!)

2. Earl Grey with Lemon (He wouldn't be a proper British gentleman without his tea, now would he?)

1. Home-Made Jam from America (During the summer, America makes a batch of jam all by himself and shares it with the other nations. England usually gets his own jar that he's pretty sure is a special batch.)

**Top Three Reasons America And England Had For Filling Out A 'Top Ten' List:**

3. Japan sent it to them as a meme on Facebook.

2. They were bored and had nothing else to do.

1. They were pretty sure the other wasn't going to bother reading it, even if they put it up as a note and tagged each other.

**Top Five Things America And England Did After Reading Each Other's Lists:**

5. Gape.

4. Read the list again.

3. Become flustered.

2. Tease the other about their number one answers, and throw a hissy fit when they were teased back.

1. Eventually run out of steam and talk more about this…the moment would've been sweeter, however, if it hadn't been conducted through Facebook messages.

**And The Top Thing Japan Did After Reading The Lists And Comments…**

1. Let himself crack a smile as his inner self had a fangasm.

_**Fin**_

…………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………..

- 'Psyche cracking in half' is a reference to the American Civil War, when eleven of the states seceded from the United States to create the Confederacy. Technically, it's a new entity, so maybe having a mental breakdown isn't exactly what would happen, but…it's not like America would be totally sane during this period, yes?

- Kraft Dinner is what the Canadians call Mac and Cheese (specifically of the Kraft variety). I'm sure they say 'mac and cheese' over there, too, but…to be honest, I think Kraft Dinner is an awesome name. :3 Usually, stuff is mixed in with it to add different taste, like cut up hot dogs or ketchup.

- Premium Rum is rum that is very expensive, but also well-made and well-aged. It's not supposed to be mixed with anything because it's got its own distinct flavor and character already.

- Mince Pies are little pies usually eaten during the Christmas and New Year season. They're filled with mincemeat, a mixture of dried fruit, spices, distilled spirits, and either some kind of meat (usually beef or venison) or vegetable shortening. I would like to give it a try, someday…

A/N: …Yes, in my head, the Nations have Facebooks and are all in a private network…and Japan is the master of memes. HE SEES ALL.

I just wrote this to give you all an update and a chuckle…I got one laugh out of you, right? Anyway, I do have something I wanna post, but it's just not done yet, and I haven't been able to just sit myself down and finish it!

Anyway, I hope you all enjoyed this! Please review! Ja Ne! - AnimeDutchess


	7. Louisiana Catfish

_**We Say It The Same Way**_

By AnimeDutchess

A/N: Just a short little idea I had. Shouldn't turn out to be too long…I just thought, almost every fic feels like loading on the Revolutionary War!Angst, and I admit, I like to do it here and there, but…I'd like to try something a little different. :3

…………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………..

Disclaimer: I own…well, damn, not even one piece of Hetalia merchandise. TxT

…………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………..

England never thought he could be in a worse mood than he was at that very moment. It was as if the world had been placed in an oven that was cranked up to maximum…and the long-sleeved shirt and sweater vest he absolutely _refused_ to take off wasn't helping matters. He was a _gentleman_, God dammit, and he'd give _France_ of all people a blowjob before he turned himself into a shirtless spectacle like America had done.

Although, he had to admit, a small, teensy part of his brain was enjoying the sight himself. If you looked closely, you could see that America's body was decently toned, and _damn it all_ he had really great abs, and the sweat on his skin made it look like he was glowing, and speaking of skin, that tan was definitely _not_ fake, and…

England just sipped his hot tea (on top of the temperature and the clothes and the flustered feelings he would totally deny if you asked if he had them), and averted his eyes. No use making a scene; they were on America's porch, after all, practically on display for the whole country to see. He looked back at America and pursed his lips. He was sitting there, watching the world go by, sipping a tall glass of lemonade (cold, sweet, tart, it would probably taste _great_ in a kiss) a little too quietly for him to not actually be thinking about something…whether or not it was important was another issue. England sighed, and leaned back in his seat, crossing his arms.

"I can only imagine," He said, smirking slightly, "What your neighbors must think of you when they see you like this." America glanced at him, blue eyes seeming to sparkle.

"Eh." He shrugged. "They probably think I'm some eccentric rich guy. Doesn't bother me." He licked his lips, as if trying to pick up more of that lemon taste. "Uhm, you sure you're not hot?"

"I'm _fine_, thank you." England scrunched his nose in annoyance and sipped his tea again.

"…You sure? Your face is kinda red. I'd rather not have you get sick from the heat or something…"

"Well, don't worry. I'll tell you if I'm too hot."

"I'm not worrying."

"Fine, you're not. So stop asking me if I'm alright."

"Alright, deal."

They didn't speak for a while, sipping being the only sound that broke the silence. A soft breeze blew by, and England could not be more grateful.

"…Hey, England."

"Hn?" Why was he feeling so tired all of a sudden?

"If you could go back in time, what would you wanna relive?"

"…What?" Surely he couldn't be hearing America asking such a strange question. Was the heat making him hear things? That must be it. Maybe he really should go inside.

"Eh, I mean…" America scratched his head. "What events in your life would you wanna do over again? Not like, to change them, I mean…to just live them again."

…Well. If that question was a loaded gun, what wasn't? Immediately, sweet memories came flooding back to England; soft spring days, catching fireflies in the summer nights, jumping in leaves in autumn and reading stories during winter's harshest snowstorms, all with a tiny blond imp by his side that had the smile of an angel. He would give anything to go back to the days where America was a little colony again, and clung to England's every word…

But there was no WAY he'd admit that to _anyone_, especially _America_, of all people. So he just put on a grumpy face and said, "Well, what about you, then? What would you like to relive?"

America blinked. "Hey, I asked you first-"

"-But you proposed it." Even England didn't know where he was trying to take this. "You've been quiet, so I assume you've been thinking about this yourself. Go on, tell me." He wasn't sure how that made sense, but from the look of the pout forming on America's face, he assumed that he'd won.

"Eh, fine." America leaned back in his chair, stretching his legs out in front of him. "I guess…I'd want to relive the thirties."

"…What?" England's jaw dropped slightly. "Why would you want to go back to the thirties? You made the entire world _poor_, and everyone hated you!" He twitched slightly when America started to chuckle.

"True…" He said, turning his head towards England slightly. "It sucked, being poor. I had to watch my people become disillusioned, and sad, and…it hurt, you know? But my boss, he…he told me that he would take care of it. He would fix it. I believed him, of course, and I let him do his thing…" He chuckled again. "Maybe I shouldn't have. We probably wouldn't have such a debt right now if he hadn't set it into motion. But…" At this point, his eyes seemed to mist over. "He let me go off on my own in thirty-five."

"…You mean…" England's eyes narrowed. "You abandoned your job? I-Is that why it was so bloody hard to get in contact with you for-"

"I didn't _abandon_ it!" America's expression soured, but only briefly. "My boss, he said it would be good if I got out of the office, so one day, I just…threw some clothes in a bag, collected as much money as I could, and jumped on a freight train." He looked at England, as if waiting for him to ask anything, before he continued. "It's funny, yah know? I'd just jump off in a random town, and walk around…help people out if they needed it and take nothing in return. That's what heroes do, after all." England had to snicker at that.

"Sounds more like just being a Good Samaritan."

"Well, yeah, I'm that, too." England rolled his eyes.

"Is that all? You just want to hop on trains and help people again?"

"Well, no, I'm not done!" You never are, England wanted to say, but he held it back. "So, this one day, I was down in Louisiana, and there was this little boy trying to catch fish in a creek for his family. Poor kid, it looked like he'd been out there since the sun rose." His grin was huge. "Well, I decided to help him out. I got some twine, a big stick, and before yah know it, we pulled in this catfish…oh, geez, it must've been four feet long!" England raised a bushy eyebrow at that. "I'm serious! He was so heavy, I had to help the kid bring it home…didn't mind, of course. Anyway, we brought it to his house, and aw, Jesus, England," And at this point, his body had turned to face England, gesturing with his hands, one still holding that glass of lemonade, "You shoulda seen the look on his mom's face, I swear, she just seemed to light up." America's face had lit up, too, just from talking about it.

At that moment, England felt like the most selfish person in the world.

"…I get it." And he couldn't help but smile. "You miss helping your people."

America just gave him a blank stare. "Huh?"

"You miss making a difference. You miss mingling with them. You miss going to the problem and rectifying it any way you can." _Of course. That's who he __**is**__, and no one can own that. If __**I**__ haven't learned that, then I haven't learned a thing._ "I didn't think you could be so…so introspective, America."

"…Intro-what?"

Oh, there goes that conception. Look, it's shattering and falling and disappearing right before England's eyes.

"I was being serious. I'd like to just relive that day and fish 'n stuff." He turned away from England, now, and sat back in his chair. "Everything was so simple."

"R…Right…" England cleared his throat, still a little…was disturbed the correct word, or disappointed?

"So, then…what about you?" America flashed him a smile. "You can't weasel out answering now."

_Ouch. That stung, you wanker._

England took a quick sip of tea, unable to tell if the liquid had cooled at all, unable to really think of an answer. "I…I don't know what to tell you, America. There are lots of times I would love to experience again." God, were there. Not only the time spent with the other Nation when he was young, but the glory days of Camelot, piracy on the high seas, numerous days spent chatting with his rulers, those nights and days in the era of punk where he drank to forget and smoked to wake up and tear up an electric guitar with a finesse that would make a statue cry…

"…" He took another sip. "Give me some time to think it over."

"…Alright." He could feel those blue eyes on him briefly. "Well, do you mind coming with me to the store?"

"Why, what do you need?"

A pause.

"Catfish."

"…Why?"

"Because now I wanna fry some up." England made a disapproving sound. "Aw, don't be like that! It's like your fish and chips, but better! Besides…" He set the glass of lemonade down on the floor of the porch and reached over, snatching up his discarded shirt. "You kinda need to stay in an air-conditioned place for a bit." England's eyes narrowed at that.

"That _again_?" He snapped, "Listen, I _told_ you-"

"And I'm telling _you_," America cut in, standing up and helping England out of his chair, "That if you stay out here, you're gonna faint in your chair, and I won't notice, and you'll be unconscious in the heat for, like, an hour, and that really won't turn out good." _Well,_ England wanted to say, _'Turn out __**well**__,'_ but the shift in positions made his head spin.

"W-Well…alright…"

"And I'll give you a shirt to change into. Yours feels sticky."

England would argue against this, but the idea of being relieved of all this heat in any way sounded great. Besides, it's not like he'd be showing off to the neighborhood like he feared.

_**Fin**_

…………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………..

- The Great Depression started in 1929, and ended in 1941…in America, at least. The stock market messed up, and the world was thrown into over a decade of hardship. You can read the last part of the Lithuania Outsourcing strips to see the Hetalia start of such events.

- FDR became President in 1932, and he set into motion several programs to help restimulate the economy; they were packaged together as the New Deal. These programs started up America's national debt, which we…probably never will pay back, huh?

- During the Great Depression, many people got the urge to just travel in search of work; hop onto freight trains and just…watch the American countryside roll by. I find the idea of Alfred with an itch to travel aimlessly just…oh, it's quite the image.

- You can pretty much find some type of catfish in the inland or coastal waters of every continent except Antarctica, and more than half of the different species of catfish call the Americas home. They are usually found in freshwater and can definitely grow to be bigger than the four-footer mentioned here. In the United States, they are usually crumbed with cornmeal and fried; this is an extremely popular meal, especially in the South.

A/N: Hn…changed some things that I wanted to include, but I'm happy with how it turned out. America says it's okay for you to drool over his shirtlessness. XD

You know, this got me thinking…England's a pretty sad character. A lot of shit happened to him, but you know what? He still managed to have fun and find happiness in his own ways. I love Angsty!England, but I think we need more Happy!England. Tsunderes can be happy, too.

So, review, please? I hope you enjoyed it! Ja Ne! - AnimeDutchess


End file.
